As much as I enjoy learning about words and communicating through writing and speaking, I can’t call myself an expert communicator. Too often I choose the wrong word and send the wrong message . . . and once it’s out there, it’s difficult to adjust (unless I have lots of grace in the bank with the audience!).

But even the most carefully crafted message can be improperly decoded. In the end, both the sender and the receiver must work together for good communication and understanding. That’s what makes relationship so wonderfully unpredictable!

Today’s Which Word Wednesday match up is all about communication. Let’s start with the definitions from The Oxford American Dictionary:

imply :: verb
strongly suggest the truth or existence of (something not expressly stated)

infer :: verb
deduce or conclude (information) from evidence and reasoning rather than from explicit statements

Here we have two actions related to the communication and processing of information. I think of imply as something I do when I communicate and infer as something I take in when others communicate. Ron Evans says the same in his The Artful Nuance: “Roughly, speakers imply, but hearers infer.”1

In both of cases, communication can be either helped or hindered. If I am implying something without saying it outright, a deeper communication can be reached, if the receiver actually catches what I mean. This is the classic “beating around the bush” form of communication. But if the recipient doesn’t catch what I’m implying, I may assume understanding where there is none.

Likewise, if I correctly infer that someone is implying something to me beyond what the words state, I can gain deeper insight. But if I infer something the sender never intended, the result could be disastrous.

What’s my WWW verdict? Straightforward communication is best, but not always easy.

What’s your verdict? Do you have regular communication blunders? When is the last time you infer something that wasn’t implied? Do share in the comments.

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Check out previous Which Word Wednesday verdicts here.

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Sources
1. Ron Evans, The Artful Nuance: A Refined Guide to Imperfectly Understood Words in the English Language (New York, NY: Penguin Group, 2009), 126.

I know, I know. It’s Christmas. The season of love and joy. So this week’s Which Word Wednesday match up is not a good fit for the intended mood of the season.

But the entry caught my eye as I flipped through one of my word resource books today. And after reading the definitions for these two words, I found that I was using despise improperly. eek!! Certainly I can’t be the only one (?). Consider this my Christmas gift to you, that I would care enough to set us all straight. (ahem.)

Here are the definitions from The Oxford American Dictionary:

despise :: verb
feel contempt or a deep repugnance for

hate :: verb
feel intense or passionate dislike for (someone)

It seems that despise is more about scorn and disapproval. I guess that could lead to the emotion of hate, but not necessarily. It may be that you despise something (disapprove of it) but you aren’t a complete hater. It’s also possible that you hate something but aren’t bitter toward it.

Ron Evans clarifies in his The Artful Nuance: “To hate is to dislike intensely but needn’t imply ‘looking down on’: ‘A man may hate another man for running away with his wife without despising him.’ ”1 And Dave Dowling gives us this example in The Wrong Word Dictionary: It seems people either love or hate mayonnaise on sandwiches.”2

My error is in using despise as a fancy form of hate. For example, I would say that people either love or despise mayonnaise on sandwiches, but this usage implies that people may feel scorn toward mayonnaise . . . which seems unlikely. (I’ve never heard anyone admit to bitterness toward mayonnaise.)

What’s my WWW verdict? Despise and hate are not interchangeable. Especially when it comes to sandwiches.

What’s your verdict? Do you think despise and hate are interchangeable? Are you bitter toward sandwich condiments? Do share in the comments.

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Check out previous Which Word Wednesday verdicts here.

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Sources
1. Ron Evans, The Artful Nuance: A Refined Guide to Imperfectly Understood Words in the English Language (New York, NY: Penguin Group, 2009), 71.
2. Dave Dowling, The Wrong Word Dictionary (Oak Park, IL: Marion Street Press, 2005), 79.

Are you familiar with the Frog and Toad children’s books? I read them back in the day and was reminded of them in an article by Erin Newcomb posted at Christ and Pop Culture on Monday. The best books present characters so real that readers consider them friends. Frog is the sort of guy who is friendly and easy going. Toad is more serious and pensive. Their differences do not prohibit them from being friends, however (a lesson we all need, whatever our age).

But Frog and Toad are not people; they are creatures. So I began to consider the differences between actual frogs and toads . . . which landed me on the topic for this week’s Which Word Wednesday.

Let’s dig in with the definitions from The Oxford American Dictionary:

frog :: noun
a tailless amphibian with a short squat body, moist smooth skin, and very long hind legs for leaping

toad :: noun
a tailless amphibian with a short stout body and short legs, typically having dry warty skin that can exude poison

Both are tailless with short bodies. But frogs get the long legs and moist skin while the toads have short legs and dry skin with warts and poison.

Ron Evans gives us further insight from his The Artful Nuance: “They differ in at least four obvious respects. Frogs like water, are smooth skinned, leap, and have teeth. Toads, except when breeding, aren’t aquatic; are dry, rough skinned, and warty (though they don’t cause warts); and are toothless.”1

What’s my WWW verdict? When you come across a stout, tailless amphibian, and you aren’t sure if it’s a frog or a toad, just ask it to smile. The presence or absence of teeth will solve it.

What’s your verdict? Do you the Frog and Toad adventure stories? Were you aware that frogs have teeth but toads go gummy? Do share in the comments.

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Check out previous Which Word Wednesday verdicts here.

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Sources
1. Ron Evans, The Artful Nuance: A Refined Guide to Imperfectly Understood Words in the English Language (New York, NY: Penguin Group, 2009), 104.

A few months ago, as I was editing content for a client, I came across the word healthful. I don’t see that word very often, and I wondered how it differed from healthy, so I decided to do a check on it.

Since then, I’ve known the difference between the two, but I have a hard time training my tongue to use them properly. Perhaps a feature on Which Word Wednesday will get my tongue to cooperate with my brain? Here are the definitions from The Oxford American Dictionary:

healthful :: adjective
having or conducive to good health

healthy :: adjective
in good health

So far we’ve learned that both words are adjectives and both describe the state of health. This doesn’t help with usage though. David Dowling helps in his The Wrong Word Dictionary: “Healthful means conducive to good health” while “healthy means possessing good health.”1

Ron Evans agrees in The Artful Nuance, adding, “What is healthy enjoys good health.”2

Based on these definitions, food would be described as healthful, not healthy, because food contributes to our health either positively or negatively. Food does not enjoy good health. (Unless you live in VeggieTale World.)

What’s my WWW verdict? People are healthy; food, exercise, and rest are healthful. Proper grammar, punctuation, and words are also healthful.

What’s your verdict? Do you use healthy to describe food, exercise, and rest? Will you be able to train your tongue to use healthful instead? Do share in the comments.

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Check out previous Which Word Wednesday verdicts here.

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Sources
1. Dave Dowling, The Wrong Word Dictionary (Oak Park, IL: Marion Street Press, 2005), 122.
2. Ron Evans, The Artful Nuance: A Refined Guide to Imperfectly Understood Words in the English Language (New York, NY: Penguin Group, 2009), 115.

Ignorance truly is bliss when it comes to word dilemmas. People who aren’t aware of the potential pitfalls speak freely, without fear of misuse. But I am aware (most of the time) and that awareness erodes my bliss when I can’t remember which word to use.

Recently, my bliss turned to utter internal distraction when a speaker used the phrase “home in” to describe the process of distilling information to the core elements. I couldn’t remember if the correct word was home or hone. I knew there was a difference, but I couldn’t remember what it was. That started a distracting undercurrent in my brain as I tried to figure it out. Eventually, I had to put it aside and wait for Which Word Wednesday so I could focus on the conversation at hand.

Let’s look to the Oxford American Dictionary for the definitions:

home :: verb
(of an animal) return by instinct to its territory after leaving it; (home in on) move or be aimed toward (a target or destination) with great accuracy.

hone :: verb
(usu. be honed) make sharper or more focused or efficient.

When you want to communicate a returning or an aiming process, home is the verb you want. When you want to communicate a sharpening focus, hone is correct.

Makes sense . . . but how can we remember the difference for quick and proper application? That’s typically my problem—all of it makes sense here on page; it’s the need for speed when speaking that trips me up.

It looks like home refers more to a direction of movement and focus. Think of homing pigeons, circling about their target for landing. They are homing in on their landing pad.

When sharpening your skills, you are honing them—you are focusing upon them to strengthen them.

What’s my WWW verdict? I think these words are easily confused because honing is a lost art. (Think about it: When is the last time you saw a whetstone?)

What’s your verdict? Do you use home and hone interchangeably? Have you ever worked with homing pigeons or whetstones? Cast your vote and share your thoughts in the comments.

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Check out previous Which Word Wednesday verdicts here.

Last week I mentioned two extraordinary allegories—John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress and Hannah Hurnard’s Hinds’ Feet on High Places—in a post over at EWO Women of the Word.

I was reminded of these heart-engaging books while reading selected Proverbs from The Message translation of the Bible for the E100 reading challenge I’m doing with gals from my church. The Message author, Eugene Peterson, takes the Bible’s use of the personification of Wisdom and gives her a few friends (Lady Wisdom, Brother Knowledge, Understanding, Common Sense, Madame Insight, and Clear Thinking), as well as a few foes (Temptress, Seductress, Simpletons, Cynics, and Idiots).

The references got me wondering if allegory was the proper term for these examples, which in turn was fodder for this week’s match up for Which Word Wednesday. So let’s sort out the differences between allegories, metaphors, and similes, shall we? As usual, we’ll start with the Oxford American Dictionary for the definitions:

allegory :: noun
A story, poem, or picture that can be interpreted to reveal a hidden meaning, typically a moral or political one.

metaphor :: noun
A figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable.

simile :: noun
A figure of speech involving the comparison of one thing with another thing of a different kind, used to make a description more emphatic or vivid.

An allegory is a complete story created to communicate hidden meanings—so the books I mentioned are, indeed, in this camp.

As for metaphors and similes, both are phrases and could be easily confused. Ron Evans helps with a few insights in The Artful Nuance: A Refined Guide to Imperfectly Understood Words in the English Language1:

“When Shakespeare wrote that all the world’s a stage, he expressed what was to become a famous metaphor.

“Saying that someone’s writing is as clear as mud is a good example of a simile.”

To say “the world’s a stage” means that life is full of experiences that are like scenes within a play and with people who are like the actors. It compares one thing to another by making a previously unidentified connection.

And to say that something is “clear as mud” is to compare bad writing, which is unclear, to the equally unclear thick goop that is mud.

What’s my WWW verdict? Allegories, metaphors, and similes help us see truths in creative ways. But use with caution—today’s creative truth can quickly become tomorrow’s cliché.

What’s your verdict? Do you like to use allegories, metaphors, and similes to tell truths in fresh ways? What’s your favorite allegory? Cast your vote and share your thoughts in the comments.

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Check out previous Which Word Wednesday verdicts here.

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Sources
1. Ron Evans, The Artful Nuance: A Refined Guide to Imperfectly Understood Words in the English Language (New York, NY: Penguin Group, 2009), 145.

During my undergraduate studies at Illinois State University, I once took a course on geology to fulfill a general education credit. The professor was extremely passionate about rocks and land formations, which was good. He also spoke like a hippie, often interjecting “dude” or “butt-load” amidst the geological terminology. That was years ago. . . . it’s strange what the mind holds onto, huh?

I was reminded of what didn’t stick from that course while making waffles at a hotel in Maryland last weekend. The waffle batter had oozed down the sides of the griddle, so when I dislodged my golden griddle cake, it had pointy fingers of baked batter protruding around the edges. I commented that it looked like stalactites or stalagmites—but I wasn’t sure which one was the proper term for upward pointing formations. Those definitions didn’t stick from my college days.

Know Your Calcium Cave Deposits

Good thing we have Which Word Wednesday to solve this language dilemma. Let’s look first to the Oxford American Dictionary for the definitions:

stalactite :: noun
A tapering structure hanging like an icicle from the roof of a cave, formed of calcium salts deposited by dripping water.

stalagmite :: noun
A mound or tapering column rising from the floor of a cave, formed of calcium salts deposited by dripping water and often uniting with a stalactite.

Although the definitions tell us the difference, the real issue is remembering our up deposits from our down deposits. We’ll turn to another source for some memory hooks.

Ron Evans tells us in The Artful Nuance: A Refined Guide to Imperfectly Understood Words in the English Language that stalactite is Greek for “that which drips.” This reminds us that the deposits drip from the ceiling, and since ceiling starts with c it matches the c in stalactite.Likewise, the g in stalagmite reminds us that the deposits sometimes protrude from the ground up.1

What’s my WWW verdict? Whoever named those deposits was sure wise to use c for the ceiling formation and g for the ground formation. Thanks, Dude.

What’s your verdict? Have you ever seen geological deposits in your breakfast waffles? Have you ever taken a geology course taught by a hippie? Do share in the comments.

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Check out previous Which Word Wednesday verdicts here.

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Sources
1. Ron Evans, The Artful Nuance: A Refined Guide to Imperfectly Understood Words in the English Language (New York, NY: Penguin Group, 2009), 188–189.
Image: http://www.threadless.com/product/1378/Stalagmite_vs_Stalactite

There’s an old saying that if you don’t like the weather, wait a bit—it’s likely to change. I think the same can be said of English language. The only thing that’s constant is that it changes, so if you don’t like the rules, give it a few decades and maybe the winds will shift in your favor.

Today’s match up for Which Word Wednesday is an example of this. Alternate spellings and pronunciations abound for this word that The Oxford American Dictionary defines as “the measurement from base to top or (of a standing person) from head to foot.” Some people say height and others say heighth—but which is correct? We are not left to cast lots, however. We have resources to clear the confusion.

Dave Dowling tells us in The Wrong Word Dictionary that “the correct spelling today is height, though years ago the word ended in th.”1 The Oxford American Dictionary supports Dowling. Height is listed, but heighth is not.

So where did heighth come from and where did the h go? I believe that heighth got its extra h because we pair it so often with width. We like things to rhyme, don’t we? But I found some professional insight in The Big Book of Beastly Mispronunciations by Charles Harrington Elster:

It is incorrect to pronounce height with a th sound at the end. . . . [These] vestigial pronunciations from the 17th and 18th centuries, when several variants were in common use. . . . ‘Height (which has been by far the most frequent written form since 1500),’ . . . and modern authorities and cultivated speakers do not countenance these pronunciations.2

What’s my WWW verdict? Using heighth is sort of like writing your dates with an ordinal (i.e., September 14th, which would be pronounced September fourteenth-th)—there’s no need for the extra syllable. Height will do. Besides, there’s no h on the end—if you say heighth you are giving voice to phantom letters that don’t even exist.

What’s your verdict? Do you say height or heighth? Do share in the comments.

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Check out previous Which Word Wednesday verdicts here.

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Sources
1. Dave Dowling, The Wrong Word Dictionary (Oak Park, IL: Marion Street Press, 2005), 122.
2. Charles Harrington Elster, The Big Book of Beastly Mispronunciations (New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1999), 193–94.

When people gather together around a common interest (profession, sport, hobby, etc.), their conversation will be laced with words and phrases specific to the shared pursuit. Linguists call this shared vocabulary lingo.

Running lingo is vast, and now that many folks take on running to check off an item from their bucket lists, that lingo is becoming more commonly known. But commonly known doesn’t necessarily mean properly used.

For example, at the Disneyland Half Marathon this past weekend, many kind people in Anaheim (park staff, transportation drivers, etc.) asked if this was my first marathon. How was I to respond? The Disneyland race was not a marathon, nor was this my first long-distance race. The question wasn’t phrased correctly, so I felt stuck. Then one guy explained that Disneyland hosts lots of marathons, sometimes the races are three miles, sometimes longer. He must have thought race and marathon were synonyms.

I realize that the word marathon is running lingo, so non-runners aren’t likely to know what that means anymore than I would know what kizzle kazzle means in the sport of curling. But it did leave me stammering for a way to answer that wasn’t incorrect or snooty. That’s when I decided marathon versus half marathon would be this week’s Which Word Wednesday.

The Oxford American Dictionary only lists marathon, so we’ll start there:

marathon :: noun
a long-distance running race, strictly one of 26 miles and 385 yards (42.195 km)

See? That’s why I was stuck—if someone is running a marathon that means she is running a race of specifically 26.2 miles. Always. That distance never varies.

Therefore, if someone is running a half marathon, she is running a race half the distance of a marathon. Half of 26.2 equals 13.1. So the half marathon is always 13.1 miles.

There are many race distances in the sport of running. Road races are commonly 3.1 miles (5K), 6.2 miles (10K), or 9.3 miles (15K). And some runners think 26.2 miles just isn’t far enough, so they run an ultra marathon—that is the term for anything longer than a marathon, so the distance will change from race to race. Some ultras are 30 miles; some are 100.

What’s my WWW verdict? Half marathons do not equal whole ones. Ever. And I think most people would appreciate knowing the difference for the next time, so those who know the lingo are responsible to help others understand its proper use.

What’s your verdict? Do you use the term marathon to describe races of any length? What lingo do you know that others regularly misuse? Do share in the comments.

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Check out previous Which Word Wednesday verdicts here.

In our society, choices abound. We can choose from 10 kinds of cheddar cheese and 85,000 different coffee combinations from Starbucks (supposedly). We want things made-to-order and made-for-me. It’s the American way.

But what happens when that mentality is applied to language? That’s when we get American English.

Take this choice between awhile (one word) and a while (two words). I thought you could just pick your favorite. Who knew there was a difference between them and a reason for choosing the one-word variety over the two?

Well, namely Mark Davidson. He knew, and he tells us in Right, Wrong, and Risky: A Dictionary of Today’s American English Usage that “a while is a noun phrase meaning ‘a period of time.’ Awhile is an adverb meaning ‘for a period of time.’ ”1 All this matches the definitions from the Oxford American Dictionary:

awhile :: adverb
for a short time

a while :: noun phrase (article + noun)
a period of time

How do we use them properly? Davidson gives us this tip:

Use only the two-word form when it’s preceded by a preposition, as with “in a while” or “for a while.”

Note that you can stay for a while (a period of time) or you can stay awhile (for a period of time). But you cannot stay for awhile, because that would mean you are redundantly staying for “for a period of time.”

What’s my WWW verdict? We get lots of choices as American citizens. We even get to choose to use our language correctly! Let’s use our freedom to the fullest.

What’s your verdict? Do you get stuck on the difference between a while and awhile? Do share in the comments.

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Check out previous Which Word Wednesday verdicts here.

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Sources
1. Mark Davidson, Right, Wrong, and Risky: A Dictionary of Today’s American English Usage (New York, NY: W. W. Norton & Company, 2006), 99.

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